


Dying Like Flies

by Kate_Marley



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: French Invasion of Russia (1812), Gen, Historical Hetalia, Russian Campaign (1812), a general description of the symptoms of dysentery, and a non-detailed description of a dead body, includes mentions of someone getting an erection, several mentions of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 21:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15349245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Marley/pseuds/Kate_Marley
Summary: Bavaria, allied with Napoleonic France, accompanies his soldiers during Napoleon’s Russian Campaign in 1812. Little does he know what he’s getting himself into… Historical Hetalia.





	Dying Like Flies

**Author's Note:**

> The Duchy of Bavaria had allied itself with Napoleonic France in the Treaty of Bogenhausen (August 1805). When Bavarian troops helped France defeat Austria in the Battle of Austerlitz (December 1805), Napoleon rewarded Bavaria, elevating it to a kingdom that was proclaimed on 1 January 1806. The defeated Austrian (since 1804, as Francis I) and Holy Roman (until 1806) emperor Francis II (1768-1835) was forced to accept Bavaria’s elevation in rank.
> 
> The Kingdom of Bavaria cofounded the (Second) Confederation of the Rhine (1806-1813) that consisted of several (initially: 16) German countries allied with Napoleonic France. They formally seceded from the Holy Roman Empire on 1 August 1806, prompting Francis II to declare the empire dissolved only five days later.
> 
> First and foremost, the Confederation of the Rhine was a military alliance. Its treaty (German _Rheinbundakte,_ 12 July 1806) specified that Bavaria was to supply Napoleon’s army with 30,000 soldiers if he declared the case for the alliance. Napoleon did so in late January 1812, after France’s diplomatic relations to Russia had deteriorated. In February, King Maximilian I Joseph of Bavaria (1756-1825) mobilised his troops. Unfortunately, they were poorly equipped because the Kingdom of Bavaria had little money at its disposal. 
> 
> Some final words about Bavaria’s human name: **Theodor Kreuzweger** is a name I adopted from fanfic writers Sternenschwester and KahoriFutunaka in the German language fandom. I really like “Theodor” as Bavaria’s first name because “Theodo” was a common name among members of the Agilolfing dynasty that ruled the Duchy of Bavaria from c. 550 to 788. This also applies to Tassilo, the name I chose for Bavaria’s horse. ;)
> 
>  **Warnings:** Mentions of someone getting an erection; several mentions of death; contains a general description of the symptoms of dysentery and a non-detailed description of a dead body.

_Near Bamberg (Kingdom of Bavaria), late February 1812_

Rain was pouring down Bavaria’s helmet, into the collar of his adjutant’s uniform and down his back. He cursed quietly, gritting his teeth and straightening his back. Sensing its rider’s movement, Tassilo, his horse, snorted as if it was scolding him for the profanity.

“Calm, my boy, calm.” Bavaria patted Tassilo’s neck soothingly. “It’s nothing, just your rider suffering quietly in the name of fashion.” The Bavarian _Raupenhelm_ did look fashionable with its large horsehair plume after which it was named because it resembled a caterpillar, _Raupe_ in German. Unfortunately, this plume waterlogged terribly when it was raining, making the helmet so heavy Bavaria was worried it would rick his neck.

Since he had leaned forward in order to give his horse a pat, water was also dripping down the front of his helmet now. _Wonderful._ Bavaria sighed. There had been snow when their regiment had marched through Munich; now this rain; and he wasn’t even in Bamberg yet, the town in his newly acquired region of Franconia where his troops for Napoleon’s Russian campaign were to assemble. He hoped this awful weather wasn’t a bad omen for the rest of the campaign.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_Bamberg, early March 1812_

“Very well done, my dear.” Bavaria gave his attendant a cordial slap on the shoulder. Alois, a lanky boy of sixteen, responded with a proud grin.

“Everything is neatly packed, Adjutant Kreuzweger.” The boy’s lively eyes gleamed in the sun that had finally come out to grace the beginning of their campaign with her rays. “May I just ask you one question, Sir?”

“Ask away,” Bavaria responded generously. He had a feeling he knew what Alois was going to ask and he didn’t mind answering his question truthfully.

“Why are there so many different uniforms in your baggage, Sir? I mean … uniforms for different ranks and such. Are you planning to mingle with the ordinary soldiers secretly in order to lift their morale if need be?” Bavaria shook his head.

“There may be situations when I want to do that, but it’s not the reason why I’m taking uniforms for several different ranks with me,” he explained. “I’m doing this because I might need to switch from one regiment to another in the course of the war. I’m … here to oversee this campaign for our king, so to say.” Hesitating a little, he added: “And to inspire all of my people who go to war with fortitude and endurance. This is the first time a Bavarian army doesn’t rely on mercenaries but solely on brave Bavarian men, so of course I need to be here.” Should he tell Alois the full truth? He wanted to, but he didn’t know how well the boy would take the disclosure that he happened to serve the personification of his own country. But Alois surprised him.

“So it’s true,” the boy said solemnly. “All this time I had the impression I knew you from somewhere.” Regarding his master trustingly, he flashed another proud grin. “It’s a great honour to serve my country,” he said simply. “And quite literally too, as it seems.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_Görlitz (Kingdom of Saxony), mid-March 1812_

Bavaria stretched his legs, placing them on a wooden stool next to the bench on which he was sitting. They had taken up quarters in Görlitz for the night, a quite picturesque town in Saxony. The weather had been pleasant so far, seemingly belying the rainy beginnings of their campaign, but Bavaria enjoyed resting his legs after a full day of travel on horseback nonetheless. He was assuming he would get used to it again soon enough, but for the time being, he was still pained by a stiffness in his muscles every evening. At least he, unlike most of the unmarried footmen who didn’t have wives with them in order to support them, didn’t need to carry his accoutrements all by himself: He had horse and cart for that, and of course he had Alois.

Speaking of whom…

“Adjutant Kreuzweger! Sir! Sir!” His attendant was jumping up and down next to him in excitement. It was a mystery to Bavaria where the boy got all this energy from. Then again, perhaps it was like this when you were sixteen and excited to leave the region in which you were born for the first time in your life.

“Yes, what is it, my dear?”

“Some of the foot soldiers are going to a church that’s said to have the largest bell in Europe! May I go with them? Please, Sir!” His eyes were wide, anticipating the amazement of actually seeing this legendary object. Bavaria shrugged.

“Sure, go ahead.” He shrugged. As far as he knew, St Peter and Paul held the largest bell in Görlitz and it had been the deepest sounding in the whole Holy Roman Empire. He didn’t know if it was actually the largest bell in the whole of Europe, but he thought there couldn’t be any harm in letting the boy think he was seeing a truly marvellous object.

“Thank you, Sir!” The boy was leaping for joy.

“But stay safe, will you?” Bavaria added as an afterthought. “Large bells can get very loud and they make the floor vibrate. Take care not to fall off anywhere steep.”

“Yes, Sir! Of course, Sir!” He was already bouncing away, and Bavaria couldn’t help smiling. To Alois, every new place where they were staying seemed wondrous. He had so much energy but was also exceedingly diligent in taking care of his master’s baggage and in preparing his quarters in one of the houses in the town or village where they were staying. Bavaria found he liked this boy a lot.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_East Prussia, end of June 1812_

“What do you estimate, how long will we need to reach the Neman river? Two days? Three?” Bavaria was riding next to Genreal Karl Philipp von Wrede who was commanding the second division of the Bavarian army. Bavaria had chosen to come with him rather than with the other division commanded by General Bernhard Erasmus von Deroy. The latter was already 68 years old and a highly respected person whom his soldiers, most of them in their early twenties, fondly called “Father”. Bavaria had reasoned that his troops didn’t need him in order to lift their morale. Deroy was capable of doing that all by himself.

“Three days?” Wrede turned his head, regarding the troops behind him. He suppressed a sigh. “There’s not enough food and their uniforms are already so worn… It’s unsurprising we’re getting on slower than estimated. And the weather has been fairly kind to us so far!”

“My boy has told me their shoes aren’t always the right size either,” Bavaria added. “It’s no wonder we’re not as quick as we should if parts of the infantry are in pain with every step they make.”

“Yes.” Wrede actually sighed now. “We need more food and better equipment, but most of all, we need decent footgear for every infantryman. I wrote this to the King for several times already and I will continue to do so until my pleas are successful.”

“Well, Max is in a financially tight situation,” Bavaria tried to explain. “Tyrol…” Tyrol had been ceded to Bavaria after the Battle of Austerlitz in 1805 in which Napoleon and his allies had defeated Austria. Bavaria, most of all, had crushed the popular rebellion that had formed there in 1809, but there was still distemper in Tyrol. Most importantly, the continuous wars in general and this popular rebellion in particular had drained Bavaria’s finances.

“He’s going to need to come up with that money somehow, Theodor,” Wrede said harshly. “Sturdy boots are an absolute necessity for a campaign like this during which we have to overcome large distances.”

Bavaria nodded. His own boots were the right size and, like all of the higher-ranking soldiers, he received enough food to sustain Alois, his horses, and himself. Nevertheless, he started to wonder if the weariness in his feet was a shallow reflection of the pain his people felt when they were marching in shoes that had been too small from the start or were too worn already.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_Vilnius, 14 July 1812_

“What a wonderful parade your soldiers showcased to my Emperor, mon cher!” France took Bavaria’s hands in his, and Bavaria got to smell a waft of his expensive perfume. He was powerless against the queasy feeling in his stomach whenever France looked at him for more than two seconds. Bavaria could only hope no one would notice that the memories connected to France’s perfume had sufficed to make him hard. The fact that Summer had come with full force once they had crossed the Neman and, with it, the border to Russia didn’t help to wake him from his daze either.

Sensing someone else’s eyes on him, he turned to the side. It was Saxony who had raised an eyebrow, darting a knowing look at him. Bavaria retaliated with a frown. _Mind your own business, my mate._

“My Emperor is so impressed he has ordered your chevau-légers to accompany our grand army on the main route to Moscow.” He flashed a smile at Saxony too. “Yours as well, of course. Isn’t that a great honour for the both of you?” Bavaria exchanged a long look with his fellow member of the Confederation of the Rhine. Saxony’s derisive smile slipped. His face turned into a tense mask.

“A great honour indeed,” he said mechanically. Saxony nodded, giving the air of a puppet on a string.

_Later that same day_

Wrede kicked the leg of the dining table in their accommodation firmly.

“Now, now,” Deroy scolded him leniently. “You won’t change anything with this, except hurt your own leg.” It worked, at least for the time being: Wrede sat down on the empty chair by the table, crossing his arms in front of him. It wasn’t necessary to be a mind reader to know he was still furious. At least his anger was cold for the most part, Bavaria thought. There had been a moment when he had worried Wrede would jump at Napoleon’s throat.

“No cavalry except for a small escort for the both of us,” Deroy summarised Napoleon’s orders. “This will be a huge problem.”

Bavaria nodded. Separating the Bavarian infantry from the cavalry challenged the envisaged method to supply the former with food and equipment from the magazine. Keeping contact between soldiers and baggage train was to become extremely difficult, if not impossible altogether. And their supplies had been sparse to begin with.

“We can only hope to find enough cultivated fields on our way through Russia,” Deroy said quietly.

“What about you?” Wrede addressed Bavaria. “You’re a chevau-léger. Will you come with us as part of our escort, or will you follow Napoleon’s Grande Armée with Preysing and his chevau-légers?” Bavaria hesitated.

“I could switch uniforms and become an infantryman too…”

“I don’t think that would be helpful.” Deroy’s voice was firm. “You’re overestimating Theo’s influence on the troop’s morale, I’m afraid,” he said to Wrede. “They may sense his presence, but this won’t compensate for the loss of our cavalry in the least. I think it’s more important for our dear Bavaria to accompany the Emperor, see what he sees with his own eyes, and ensure there will always be someone who is able to report faithfully to our king. Don’t you think so?”

“Hm,” Wrede grumbled. “I hate to admit it but you’re probably right. I just…” He interrupted himself. “Nothing.” Bavaria wondered what he had wanted to say.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_Smolensk, 16 August 1812_

Bavaria crouched on a wooden chair, holding his stomach while Alois bandaged a superficial flesh wound on his upper thigh. The wound was as insignificant as their victory in a battle near Smolensk that had caused heavy losses on their part, but the pain in his stomach was not. It had become his constant companion during their march, and he had known instantly what it meant as soon as it appeared: There was an epidemic among his soldiers. Dysentery, most of all, but also some other things. Pneumonia, sometimes. And many died out of sheer exhaustion under a merciless summer sun that caused the thermometer to rise well above 30°C.

In a way, Bavaria was glad he got _just_ the cramps rather than diarrhoea too. He remembered how it was to be ill with dysentery: You gradually lost your own self-esteem while liquid, bloodied shit trickled uncontrollably out of your sore anus until you just didn’t have the energy to care anymore. Slight but sometimes also severe stomach cramps were your constant companions. Your throat became drier and drier even though you never seemed to stop drinking the same water that had probably made you ill in the first place. By the time it was over, the muffin top around your waist had vanished completely and your bones were so visible you looked like a walking skeleton.

Of course it was possible to survive this. He _had,_ after all, and he assumed this was precisely why he hadn’t caught that same disease now. But if it was left untreated … if you had to _continue marching_ with the whole army _with dysentery_ while carrying all of your heavy baggage on your own back … Then it was almost impossible to recover. _Then_ this disease was a death sentence.

“Alois,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time, and perhaps it was. “Stay close to me for as long as you can. I know it doesn’t sound very convincing from a person with stomach pain, but it looks like staying with the likes of us can somehow help humans not to get ill during an epidemic.”

“Yeah, I know.” Alois finished applying the bandage, then took a step back in order to inspect his work. “Looks quite useful.” He cocked his head to the side. “What I don’t understand is why my life should be any more important to you than that of any other person.”

“Well…” Alois’ change from this lively, carefree boy to a worldly-wise, sometimes sardonic human being never failed to surprise Bavaria. “Maybe you’re right. But I’ve come to know you and to like you, so…” He shrugged. “Also, you’re about the only person whose well-being I’m able to influence directly. Let me help at least one person to survive this ordeal.”

Bavaria learned only several days later that there had been one man he knew well who didn’t survive the ordeal on that same day: During the Battle of Polotsk in which the Bavarian infantry was involved, General Deroy suffered a bullet wound in his lower abdomen of which he died six days later. The infantrymen lost their “father”; Bavaria lost a fine soldier and a magnanimous friend.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_Borodino, 7 September 1812, at night_

“Adjutant Kreuzweger?” There was a worried voice above him. Reluctantly, Bavaria opened his eyes. It was Alois. Of course. “Sir? Are you wounded, Sir?”

“I wish I was,” Bavaria said silently. “I wish…” He sighed. “I wish I could cry, but I don’t have any energy left. Honestly, I feel so numb…”

“Take my hand and get up,” the boy said in a firm voice that was possibly mimicking his mother’s. “You can’t just sleep on the battlefield. It’s so dirty.” A little belatedly, he added: “Sir.” Bavaria sighed again and pushed himself up without taking the boy’s hand.

“Thank you … I guess.” The scenes from today’s fighting were playing at the back of his eyelids as soon as he closed them again. Napoleon’s Grande Armée had been successful in the end, but at what cost… _At what cost._ “Did someone count them already?” 

“I don’t think anybody has counted the dead yet, but Major General Preysing counted the ones who survived…” The boy hesitated.

“How many?” Bavaria didn’t know why he was torturing himself. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t…

“One hundred and eighty, Sir.”

“One hundred and eighty,” Bavaria echoed. “One hundred and eighty of about _six thousand_ soldiers on horseback. Do you know how to calculate percentages, Alois?”

“No, Sir.” The boy sounded concerned. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Three,” Bavaria informed him. “The answer is three per cent. _Three per cent_ of my cavalry are still alive.” He closed his eyes again, and the death of Colonel Karl Christian Gustav Friedrich zu Sayn-Wittgenstein-Sayn replayed before his inner eyes. One of Bavaria’s men; he had died through one part of the Russian army while his distant relative, Ludwig Adolph Peter zu Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg, was commanding another part of Russia’s army—the one that had caused Deroy’s death at Polotsk.

 _What am I even doing here,_ Bavaria thought. _This is not my war. It has never been my war. I want to go home._

Later, it turned out that Alois had mixed up some numbers. The total number of survivors in Preysing’s division was actually 700 and not all of the rest had died but some had also become prisoners of war. Still—700 of about 6,000 was little; about twelve per cent. Also, Bavaria couldn’t un-think the thoughts he had had that night on the battlefield of Borodino: _This is not my war._

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_Moscow, mid-September 1812, nightfall_

“The … the city has stopped burning, right?” Alois looked around himself worriedly.

They had reached Moscow on the fifteenth; the night the fire had raged the worst. Napoleon and France were furious because Russia and Tsar Alexander had denied them the triumph of entering their capital: There had been no Russian there to surrender; just some smaller troops whose main purpose it was to spark a horrid fire that had left the city in ruins. There was nothing to gain; nothing to plunder. Bavaria … just felt numb. He had helped to combat the fire as was his duty, but that was all: It wasn’t _his_ war. He simply wanted to go home.

“There may still be some small sources of fire,” Bavaria explained, “but overall, the city should have stopped burning by now. I think we can dare to take shelter for the night in one of the stone houses here.”

“Better not sleep too tightly, though, I suppose,” Alois added for consideration.

“No, better not. I better sleep right next to my weapons.”

Alois nodded. They prepared their night-quarters, and Bavaria drifted off into a restless sleep. He half expected to be roused by warmth and the smell of fire, but … after a while, he started to shiver.

 _Strange,_ he thought, pulling his blanket closer around his body. _It’s not even that cold yet._

 _“You are so foolish,”_ a droning voice seemed to say right next to him. Instantly, Bavaria sat upright in his bed.

“Who is this?” he asked, trying not to sound too apprehensive. “What do you want?”

 _“You will get to know me soon enough,”_ the voice said, and now Bavaria was able to recognise an almost translucent figure standing at the other end of the room … too close to Alois, to Bavaria’s taste. _“Foolish humans and foolish countries who dared to enter my realm. You should have returned while you still could.”_

“Well, I agree we should have retreated after Smolensk, but Napoleon…”

 _“Excuses,”_ the man interrupted him. _“All of you need to understand how wrong it was to attack my charge. You, the immortal country—”_ He pointed at Bavaria with an outstretched arm, and Bavaria started to shiver. _“And you, the mortal human.”_ The man rested his hand on Alois’ shoulder. Bavaria could hear the boy’s teeth chatter, but he didn’t wake up. _“I will teach you a lesson.”_

“Stop it,” a voice said, and a tall man with light hair appeared. He was wearing the uniform of a regular Russian soldier and a thick, woollen scarf, but Bavaria recognised him at once.

“Russia,” he whispered. “I thought you had left the city.”

 _“Why did you come back?”_ The translucent figure sounded furious. _“Didn’t I tell you to stay behind?”_

“But I felt such a burning pain in my chest … I needed to see for myself what the fire had done to my heart.” Without ostentation, Russia had moved between the strange figure and Bavaria.

_“Get out of my way.”_

“No. Don’t kill him. He is like me, and, what is more, he is my friend’s brother.”

_“You don’t have any friends.”_

_What a nasty fellow,_ Bavaria thought. But … friend’s brother?

“But I like Austria. He didn’t want to turn against me. I’m sure this one didn’t either. They were just defeated…”

Bavaria wanted to laugh in incredulity. He was almost tempted to tell Russia about the many times Austria and him had fought over the course of the past century, and how Bavaria had helped France to defeat his brother. But it was true that he had nothing against Russia, and so he remained silent. Still … How ironic it was that Austria, who wasn’t even there, was the reason why Russia stood up for him against this creature.

 _“They were defeated,”_ the droning voice echoed. _“Isn’t that enough? Don’t weak people deserve to die?”_

“Nobody deserves to die,” Russia said firmly. “Leave them alone.”

 _“Very well,”_ the translucent figure said. _“I will retreat for the time being. But I will return, and then…” _There was an icy whirlwind, and the temperature in the room fell sharply. Bavaria felt himself pass out, and then there was only darkness.__

__When he woke up in the morning, Bavaria’s fingers were half frozen and his throat was aching—signs of an approaching cold. The memory—if it was a memory and not just a dream—of that icy creature made him shiver. He went to wake Alois, shaking the boy lightly on his shoulder._ _

__“Alois,” he whispered hoarsely. His throat felt too raspy to speak louder. “We need to get up.”_ _

__Then he saw it. The boy’s half-open lips had taken on a bluish sheen. His eyes were open, staring sightlessly into the void. Alois was dead._ _

__After Borodino, Bavaria had thought his feelings had numbed completely. He had been wrong. An overwhelming feeling of guilt seized him. Hadn’t he told the boy he was able to help him survive this ordeal? Well. Turned out it wasn’t even in his power to do this._ _

__“I’m sorry, my son.” In a way, Alois had been almost like a son to him. Bavaria gave his cold cheeks a light caress. Then he tried to close his eyes. They popped open again. Bavaria felt defeated._ _

___Not even this,_ he thought. _I can’t even do this for him. What is it even that I can do?__ _

**Author's Note:**

> This got way out of hand! I decided to split this story in Bavaria’s way to Moscow and his way back because I’m not done with all the scenes yet but didn’t want to delay posting my second _APH: A Brief History of Time_ contribution any further. Expect the second and last chapter of this fic (including further notes) to be posted one of the following days. I’m so, so sorry this took so long!


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